


Unbridled

by AtmosphericFantasy



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Other, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-05-20 05:40:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5993574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtmosphericFantasy/pseuds/AtmosphericFantasy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know he wants information about the Resistance, but you know that you will never comply, even if that means your life. The integrity and safety of the Resistance means more than one life, it means so much more than your existence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Flee

Your legs feel unsteady as you stand bent over, desperately trying to breathe in air. An arm leans heavy against a tree trunk to keep yourself from toppling over. You barely feel the spiked, barbed leaves that cover its trunk, you're only thankful that the trunk is wide enough to give yourself plenty of cover from your pursuers. 

The sprinting had taken its toll, each breath was a punishment, your lungs burning with each intake of humid air. It is too thick. You wish it had been colder. After removing your arm from the tree, you manage to stand up straight even though your legs protest beneath you. The muscles of your thighs and calves ache painfully, but there's an odd numbness to them, like they're trying to detach themselves from your body. You wish that you're more sensitive to the Force, you'd read about people being able to strengthen their bodies with it, increase their stamina, even heal their own wounds. 

You feel something dripping on your arm, and your first instinct is to look up. The forest canopy is dense, but plenty of sunlight seeps through the trees, it doesn't seem to be raining. You inspect your arm, registering that the trunk had made a series of small incisions along your skin, blood spilling from the cuts. 

A knot in your stomach twists painfully as you hear movement behind you, your body automatically crouching, making yourself a smaller target from any incoming blaster fire. Your own A280 rifle lays snug against your back, and you pull the strap over your head. You clutch the weapon in your hands, shifting into a prone position before peeking out from behind the trunk. About sixty metres away, you see figures in bright white armour amongst the trees, heading straight towards you. You're about to open fire, but you hear the loud rumblings of a ship flying just above the canopy. 

The stormtroopers suddenly stop and one of them signals to the others, swirling their armoured hand in the air. Your gut aches with nerves, your instincts telling you to run, the Force warning you to flee. Are they retreating? Why would they be retreating? They had been chasing you for over a mile now, why would they suddenly withdraw? 

Could the Resistance have provided reinforcements so quickly? Is that why the ship was pulling them out? The attack on the small trading port of Oresia had come without warning. Stormtroopers overwhelmed the Resistance fighters with speed and numbers. There weren't enough of you to defend yourselves against an entire division. It was meant to be an uneventful mission, restocking medical supplies, acquiring a few surgical droids on the cheap, it wasn't meant to be like this. Your frantic breathing suddenly stops when you see glimpses of white spill down from the canopy, stormtroopers were sliding down rope from the ship hovering above. 

It wasn't the Resistance getting reinforcements. 

You scramble up onto your feet and start running again, barely able to feel your legs. With a fresh set of stormtroopers, you are at a gross disadvantage, and you don't want to fire at them so you reveal your position. You didn't know how much longer you could keep going. The trees whizz past your vision as you run through the forest, but you feel more and more detached from your surroundings. You begin to panic when you feel yourself slowing down, and you force yourself to keep going, the adrenaline managing to keep your aching, protesting body from collapsing on itself. 

You don't know how long you'd been running for when you see a shot of red in your peripheral vision. The whine of blaster fire instantly follows the shot, they were close. A second shot impacts against a tree as you run past it, smoke billowing out from the trunk. Your gut tells you to jump left, and you comply automatically, knowing that the Force is warning you of immediate danger. The blaster fire is avoided, but it came close, too close. You scramble behind a tree and throw your A280 out to blindly return fire. More whining of the stormtroopers blasters fills the air and it's getting louder with every moment. You have to run again. After crouching and half running past a few trees, you straighten back up and sprint away from the oncoming shots. But it's not enough.

You don't know you've been hit until you're on the ground. Winded from the fall, it takes a few moments for the pain to register in your thigh. A scream pours from your throat as you feel pain unlike anything you've ever felt. It is sharp and burning with a heat you didn't think was possible. You try to scream again but your heavy breathing muffles the noise and you almost choke on it. 

The wet soil on your face impairs your sight as you try to inspect your wound, and you don't think you can turn yourself over to get a good look. Your hand slips down and you tentatively reach for the wound, feeling wet before you feel the hole the blaster fire has made in your jumpsuit. You wince as your fingertips brush against the broken flesh. Another scream is building in your throat and you give up trying to manually check the wound.

Before you can attempt to turn over, you feel two sets of arms pull you harshly from the ground, the speed of the move making you dizzy. Black spots begin to form over your vision. 

"We have captured the remaining Resis-" 

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Something slaps against your face and you wrench yourself away from it, eyes opening to bright sunshine pouring down through the atmosphere from the single red giant star in this system. A few seconds pass before you're finally fully conscious and able to discern your surroundings. You had been moved back to Oresia, close to where you'd been in the market when the First Order first launched their attack. Your arms had been shackled behind you, and you are kneeling next to several other prisoners, your position at the end of the line. You recognise one of them as a trader, another as a fellow Resistance fighter, Gerian. Eyes slip down to your thigh and the pain thrums mildly, not like before, you knew you couldn't be all with it. 

You turn your attention back to Gerian and you make out that she's bleeding profusely from her forehead. Her expression is not fearful, she looks angry more than anything. She's one of the new pilots the Resistance had recently recruited. But her expression wavers for a brief moment, her eyes widening at something in front. You look away from her and see a dark figure approaching, who had six stormtroopers following behind in close formation.

The figure wears the complete opposite to the stormtroopers, black unarmoured robes that are long enough to brush against the ground. The only similarity is the helmet the figure wore, the First Order likes to keep their soldiers faceless and dehumanised, it was an easy way to instill fear. But this figure isn't just a soldier, he is Kylo Ren. You'd heard of his campaigns, the brutal series of assaults on the innocent and defenceless, the tail of his vicious employ of the Force, along with his blood red lightsaber that could barely contain itself. 

The hope that is left in you is scattered away into nothing but a memory. The Master of the Knights of Ren looks over the prisoners, there's six of you left. One of them is slumped backwards, their body still and unmoving. Stormtroopers pull the prisoner back from the line, you know that they are dead, the Force assuring you of it. You close your eyes, inwardly begging the Force to help you, trying to scrounge up every last ebb of it in your system. It does nothing but wane and writhe unmoved, unattained by your desperation.

Screaming drowns out the pleading thoughts and you turn to the noise, opening your eyes to witness Kylo Ren holding his gloved hand in front of Gerian. She's in utter agony, her body shuddering, shaking under the pressure he exerts. Her screams are piercing, almost deafening your ears though she's not close to you. Tears form in your eyes as her body suddenly stills and she slumps face first onto the ground. Everything is quiet for a brief few moments, the horror stiffening your limbs. 

"She knows nothing of value," Kylo Ren states casually, his voice altered and unnatural. He moves along the line to the next prisoner, his hand resuming the same position, screams quickly follow. You can't force yourself away from the sight, there's an ease to his movements, a casualness, like this was almost boring to him. It sickens you. 

Your gut swells deep with anger as he finishes his assault before moving onto the next prisoner. They beg for mercy, assuring Ren that they are not with the Resistance, that they had been born into a family loyal to the Empire. They suddenly start choking on their own words, Ren's hand has shifted, fingers stiff as if he's choking the prisoner's neck right in his hand even though he stands several feet from them. The display is terrifying, the prisoner goes silent, their throat too constricted to make any noise. Several moments pass before Kylo Ren drops his hand, the prisoner falling forward onto the ground the same way Gerian did. 

The person next to you does not offer any pleading words of genial loyalty, they remain silent as Kylo Ren raises a hand yet again. The silence doesn't last very long. You grind your teeth together as a sob begins to bubble in your throat. No, you won't allow yourself to go out weeping or begging. You force the fear inside yourself to shift into rage, to disobedience, to resistance. That's what you are. 

Ren finishes with the prisoner and turns his attention onto you. A resolve seeps through your body. Your stare flicks up to the black slit where his eyes should be behind the helmet, and your head tilts, waiting for his hand to raise, waiting for the pain and then the stillness that would soon follow. You know he wants information about the Resistance, but you know that you will never comply, even if that means your life. The integrity and safety of the Resistance means more than one life, it means so much more than your existence. 

When the pain comes, it's not like you expect. You'd imagined it to be sharp, piercing, a surgical scapel to your mind, cutting out whatever he deemed necessary. But it is like a wave, an uncontrollable power crashing across your consciousness without impunity, drowning your thoughts with agony. Somehow you manage not to scream. 

A few seconds later you're laying face first on the ground, the pain still echoing through your mind. You feel a blossom of hope, if you had survived, maybe Gerian and the others had simply passed out from Ren's assault, maybe they were alive. 

"Take this one. Execute the rest."


	2. Grey

When you wake, you know that you've been unconscious for a long time. The general ache of your body, the unsubtle pangs of hunger, they are just a couple of the telltale signs that time has passed. Your eyes flicker open slowly, but it's uncomfortable, it's too bright. The source lacks the softness of natural sunlight, it is too harsh, has to be artificial. As you slowly work your eyes open, you begin to register that you're in some sort of room, possibly underground or on a ship. 

The design is metallic and bland, nothing like the patterned, intricate architecture of Oresia. The only thing of note is the paneled circle of red light above you.

You look down at your body, only noticing now that your body is nearly upright and it has been tied down firmly to a specialised interrogation chair. Heavy duty restraints are strapped in pairs across your wrists and ankles, they are locked fimly in place. Without security authorisation, you'd need to a blow torch to cut through the mechanisms of the apparatus.

The material that suffocates your skin is akin to medical restraints, designed not to bruise the flesh it suffocates. It doesn't chaff your skin as you wrench at your arms. You still after a few moments, remembering the blaster wound on your thigh. You see bandages wrapped around it, thankful that it's been treated, but there's a deep sense of violation you can't seem to escape. The thought of the enemy touching your body while you were unconscious only feeds into the feeling. Your left arm is also bandaged, and you recall the series of cuts the barbed tree trunk had made during your attempt at evasion. 

The thigh wound aches vaguely, but it's muted. They must have given you some sort of painkiller when they treated it. You wonder how quickly your blood will burn through the medicine, how soon the pain will return. 

Your head is the only part of you that can be moved freely, and you turn your neck, trying to make out what's behind you, but the apparatus blocks your view. You slam the back of your head against it in frustration. There's a quiet thud from the padded material of the chair, preventing you from causing any damage or pain. 

The desire to hurt yourself grows because it's something they've taken away from you, you no longer control your body, it is theirs to use as they see fit. Your fingernails dig into the soft flesh of your palms, but you're taken aback. Your nails have been cut and filed down, leaving them utterly useless. The panic rises and it drowns your consciousness before you force yourself to calm down, knowing you're simply wasting your energy. 

You have to hold onto whatever strength you have left. It might come down to a matter of life or death, an opportunity to escape or to fail. You begin to recall the training you'd undergone to resist against interrogation techniques. Thankfully it helps to settle the panic in your system. 

You have to accept this. That's the first step. You have to accept the situation, the lack of physical control. It's theirs now. There's nothing you can do. The only thing you can do now is uphold your mental integrity. It's everything you have, and it's everything they need. Time passes as you consider your circumstances. 

The ordeal won't begin with tactical questioning. Kylo Ren had already saved you from execution, he had deemed you worthy enough for further interrogation. You have information. You have value. They're keeping you in good condition so far, you wonder how quickly that will deteriorate.

Would your captors come into the room to soften you up? Employ mild physical beatings before the real interrogation begins? You consider what information they'd want to know. Resistance movements, positions of strongholds, the location of the main Resistance base. An image of Gerian collapsing onto the ground fills your thoughts. She was new, she'd only been recruited a few months ago. She hadn't known where the main base was, hadn't known much of anything, she was still going through security protocols. That's why she had been executed, she didn't know enough. 

But you do.

You spend several minutes picturing her before the capture, before her bloodied face fell from defiance to terror, before she falls limp to the ground. Each time you recall a memory, it's marred, poisoned by the last image of her. You force her crooked smirk to be the strongest picture of her, she deserves at least that. 

In a way, you're glad she was spared this, spared your oncoming interrogation. She hadn't gone through the training, but you had. You knew what was coming. You run through the various scenarios of what might happen next, barrages of questioning and abuse, unrelenting softening up techniques day and night, food, water and sleep deprivation, disorientation tactics, sexual assault, humiliation, degredation, stress positions, physical and psychological torture. 

Interrogation officers will be researching everything about you, they'll build up a picture of you, trying to find out how you work. Every response you give, every reaction, every expression will be noted and catalogued. You have to force yourself to keep looking forward, straight ahead. Eye movement is too revealing of emotion, a shift to the top left might suggest a lie, peering to the left or bottom right of your vision hints that a raw nerve has been hit. 

You constantly tell yourself to be grey. 

You have to be grey, not too aggressive, not too submissive. Don't talk back to your captors, but don't comply to everything. Play the sympathy card with your interrogators, exaggerate your injuries, you're trying to look fatigued, in pain and weak. They might be First Order, but they're still people underneath their masks. You mull over the thought for a while, considering whether the humanity might have been drilled out of them completely. 

If that was the case, appearing weak is still a tactical advantage. They would underestimate you if you maintain a facade of weakness. They might make allowances for you and stop their interrogation if they believe they've reached your threshold. 

You're not sure how long you've been in the room now, over an hour maybe. Recalling your training has certainly helped to ease the initial panic and fear away, but you can't rid yourself of the unease, of the sick anticipation for the ordeal to begin. You feel in limbo, the wait is making you more and more on edge. And yet, that's what they want, isn't it? They want you scared and uneasy, they'll make you wait for hours, maybe days. 

The ordeal has already begun.

The pyschological pressure of waiting is perfect for softening you up, make you more receptive for when the interrogators are truly ready. You can't let them win before they've even started. You won't.

You go through more training, thinking through the techniques of how to interact with the interrogator. They'll use everything they know to draw out information, every tactic and method at their desposal. They might be desperate to help you, persuade you that they're on your side, that they need your help. Or they might be vicious and relentless, abusive and physical, gradually breaking you down until you give up.

They will mold themselves to your weaknesses and they will exploit anything you give them. You have to be grey. Let the interrogator think they are on top of you, that they are in control of you, even though you're very alert in your mind. Take any chance you can to lessen their power and control, degrade them in your mind. Seek pleasure from it, you have your mind, that's in your control and-

"You wish to degrade me?" Blood drains from your face at the deep voice, terror seeping into your gut. A soft chuckle follows. "And yet I had thought that the rebels were supposed to be masochists, not sadists." 

The altered voice comes from behind you, it belongs to Kylo Ren. You feel like you're burning, heat ravages your skin, your heart is pounding relentlessly. He moves slowly around to you, hands held behind his back, wearing the same black robes from before, the same helmet. Had he been here the whole time? No, he couldn't have, you would have noticed, heard something at least. And how does he know you were thinking-

"I have been here since before you woke, and I've heard every little thought you've had since then. Pointless really, all the training you were remembering, trying to reassure yourself to be strong." He stands at the end of the apparatus, arms still held behind him. His posture is of domination and control, his voice mirroring his body language. You lower your eyes, the fear is making it hard to think, hard to breathe. You stare ahead, not looking at him, you have to be grey, you have to be strong.

"All that training. . .and yet you were never trained to resist against Force-users like myself. Don't you find that curious?" He lets the question linger for a few moments, waiting for you to reply. Your mind is blank, his words still permeate your ears like a trance, like a snare. 

"There is no training because there is no resistance against me. I hear everything you think, see everything you remember. You thought that you would still have control over your mind. . ." His hand raises in your direction and the pain comes over like a wave, a flood of agony. It is devoid of precision or shape, it is a heat and a coldness unlike anything you've ever experienced. A scream forms in your throat, but you're aware of his hand shifting, fingers clenching slightly. 

He won't even let you scream.

"Do you feel in control?" The words are almost a whisper. He shifts closer to you, and somehow the pain gets worse. Memories start to flicker through your mind, memories of home, of people, of Gerian, screaming, falling. There's no crooked smirk anymore, he wipes it away, he tears the image apart, leaving only the final memory of her. The moment repeats over and over, you relive the horror of it, he has weaponised it. You see the defiance fade in her expression as Ren approaches, his hand raises, you hear her pain, piercing you, deafening you, it gets louder and louder. 

You see her body shaking under the pressure he exerts, you feel her shuddering, you feel the pain you unleash on her mind as you methodically wreck through her thoughts, her memories, searching for what you need. Her pain is now yours, and somehow it satisfies you. The pain is useful, the pain has value, but her memories do not. You withdraw, her body slumps face first onto the ground. Everything is quiet. The horror stiffens your body.

When his hand relaxes, you're desperate for air, not realising you had held your breath. Had he choked you? Had he constricted your throat with the same arrogant ease as he used with one of the prisoners? You don't even know. As you recover, you think of Gerian, how you unleashed such pain in her mind, no, that wasn't you, that was him, his memory. You feel nauseous, thinking of how you tore through her thoughts, how he tore through her thoughts. 

It felt so easy, so natural, but it was wrong, it was so fucking wrong.

"I had presumed that I could simply wait for you to think of the information that I need, so that we could avoid these. . .unpleasantries. . ." He continues on his casual conversation as if he has done nothing, and to him, you supposed it was nothing. The last word hangs in the air. How could he call what he had just done to you, unpleasantries? He had caused you such indescribable agony, playing with your memories, forcing his own into your mind so adeptily that they felt like your own.

"Unfortunately, you thought nothing of any real value." You keep your watering eyes low, staring straight ahead. Through the pain and the fear, there's a seed of anger, it's so small that it's almost insignificant. But you let it writhe. 

You let it burn. 

"I will extract the information I require from you, and I would prefer, and I know you do as well, that you give the information voluntarily. I will take whatever I want, regardless of your consent, with time. But it would be much easier, for us both, if you cooperate." Ren moves closer to you now, standing by your side, his masked face is close to your own. He leans forward, and you can't help the fear that grows inside you at the intimacy. He knows this, he feels your fear, hears the thought in your head. A gloved hand gently reaches out and it cups your cheek, his thumb caressing your jaw. You blink in shock several times, tears spilling down your face. 

The touch is comforting, how can it be comforting? It's wrong, it's wrong, it's so fucking wrong. He wipes the tears away with care, with affection, but it's not real. It can't be real. This isn't real, he's just using you, he's playing you, he's molding himself to your weaknesses-

"I know you want to be strong. I don't want to hurt you anymore than I have. Tell me what I need and this will be over. Where is the location of the Resistance base?" His words are sincere, and there's a strange sort of melancholy to them, a reluctance almost, like he doesn't want to do this. This isn't real. He's lying, he's fucking lying. He ripped through your mind, showing Gerian screaming and falling, over and over, and now he doesn't want to hurt you? 

But the pain was satisfying to him, it was useful, it has value. You have value. You have everything he needs. He hasn't taken it from you yet, and he won't. You will not allow him. 

"The Resistance will not be intimidated," you state coldly, your voice hoarse and quiet, but there's not a hint of weakness in your words. You keep your eyes steady, feeling his hand slip down to your jaw. He grasps it firmly, turning you to face him, but you don't look at him, you don't look at where his eyes are meant to be in the slit of his helmet. 

"Tell me the location of the Resistance base," he orders, the softness in his voice gone. The louder his voice is, the less human it sounds. He repeats the command again before releasing the grip on your jaw. You're about to turn your head away but you feel two hands latch onto either side of your head, he pulls you back to him. 

"Tell me." His anger is growing but so is yours. 

_The Resistance will not be intimidated._


	3. Edge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thankyou so much for all the kudos and the comments. I really appreciate all the support, and it encouraged me to write this chapter extra fast for you. While writing this chapter, I kept listening to Broken Mantra by Lorn, the youtube link is /watch?v=MF1ChAdl0hY and it's that beautiful fucked up dark kinda music that I love and it fits perfectly with my story. But anyways, let's get down to it. Please enjoy :)

He does not like that thought. The defiant mantra of Resistance fighters against the First Order and their methods of oppression.

Kylo Ren responds with sheer brutality as he tears through your mind. It is worse than anything from before, the waves of agony drown out everything. He doesn't care to stop the screams pouring from your throat. You aren't able to stop yourself, you've lost control, you only feel pain. 

The suffering is inescapable.

It encompasses everything, your body, your mind, your heart. Wave after wave, it crashes against you, it is suffocating, it is relentless. His touch has made it worse, the physical connection between you only makes this more real. Ren's gloved hands keep you from pulling away, keeping you from distraction. There is only pain, nothing but the terror he inflicts.

The rawness of his assault is beyond anything you could imagine. Time stagnates and you only become unaware of it until you can't scream anymore. Your silence is filled by the rhythmic noises of his heavy breathing, and it takes a few moments for the satisfaction to register in your mind through the onslaught. 

This is taxing him. There is no ease like before. In your own way, you're making him suffer. 

The pain shifts in its intensity in response to the thought and there is only pain again. The relief was a flickering light in an ocean of darkness, it is easily wiped away, but not forgotten. Hope is a hard thing to snuff out, and even Kylo Ren can not accomplish this feat.

You're only aware that the pain has stopped when you feel firm hands latch onto your arms. Suddenly your body has weight again, and you realise that you've been removed from the apparatus, two stormtroopers are dragging you out of the interrogation room. You can't feel your legs as they pull you along the floor, your knees rub against it. It is an odd sensation feeling so disconnected from yourself, but the ebbs of pain are fading, and that's what matters. 

As the stormtroopers drag you, you're barely aware of your surroundings, but you know you're in a First Order stronghold. It's impossible not to recognise the darkness of the interior, the inhumane, sterile nature of the place. Pairs of stormtroopers sometimes pass you by, at one point, there are eight of them together in tight formation. 

You begin to remember what happened before the pain started, when you were recalling your training. You have to appear fatigued, in pain and weak. The thought is almost amusing as the guards drag your unresponsive body through corridor after corridor, your performance must be riveting. 

They stop you for a brief moment, a door slids open, then you're moving again. A few seconds later, they tighten something around your wrists and lift you up before laying you face first onto a hard surface. The actions are neither cruel, nor kind. They are functional, efficient and precise, the way stormtroopers aspire to be. 

When your next thought occurs, you register how badly your arms and shoulders are cramping underneath you. You must have blacked out for a while, the hunger is worse. After turning yourself onto your back, you get a sense of your new location. It's smaller than the interrogation room, must be a cell. You're laying on a raised platform, and there's another one opposite you. Neither of them have padding or bedding. 

You've slept on the ground before. It takes a while to get used to, but comfort can easily be unlearnt. Looking down at your shackled wrists, you inspect the restraints, they are metallic and have little give to them. You are certain they will bruise your skin if you shift against them too much. A sigh escapes your throat and you regret the action immediately, your throat is dry to the point of painful. The back of it itches like it's been scratched raw, the screaming took its toll. 

Gradually, pain returns to your body as you become fully conscious. Initially, it blossoms with your aching arms and your burning throat, but then the wound on your thigh supersedes them both. You manage to pull yourself up, and lean heavily against the wall as you unravel the bandages. The blaster shot had gone through messily, taking out a chunk of flesh on the outer side of your thigh. Though it wasn't a graze, you're glad the shot didn't go through your femoral artery, the damage would have be much more significant. 

The door to your cell slides open and a healing droid rolls towards you, behind it are two stormtroopers keeping watch at the entrance. The droid treats your wound efficiently, injecting you with a painkiller that numbs your thigh, and something else that was probably designed to fight infection. The First Order would not allow one of their prisoners to die of infection, that was not civilised. 

After a few minutes, a stormtrooper comes in with a tray of food and cup of water, and places it next to you. You don't wait for them to leave before you start eating quickly. The protein mush is bland but it does the job of settling your hunger. You continue to eat, sipping slowly at the water as the droid works, making sure you don't swallow it all at once.

The droid isn't like the ones you're used to, it's silent and only communicates with a point or a nod. It bandages your thigh after covering it with some sort of cooling gel, and also treats your left arm as well. The series of cuts have all scabbed over, and the droid doesn't wrap them up like your thigh, but simply applies a healing cream over them.

You can't help but thank the droid when it nods at you to leave, but the word comes out raspy and intelligible. You assume the stormtroopers would retreat from the doorway and leave you in the cell, but they approach you and pull you up off the ledge. 

Putting any weight on your thigh wasn't possible, so you simply let them drag you out, initially considering you should hop along with them. You don't have the energy to even try. 

You don't really consider where you're going, you're too numb to think of a repeat session with Kylo Ren. The stormtroopers take you to a bathroom facility where they allow you to use the toilet. It doesn't come with total privacy, the stormtroopers stand with you in their peripheral vision, but it's more than you had imagined. They take you back to the cell and leave you alone. 

Turning onto your side, you begin to relax for the first time in what feels like an age. You're alive, you're still alive. Somehow, you had managed to keep Kylo Ren from finding the information he needs. If you hadn't, you wouldn't still be here, your use to him would have been rendered inert. 

It had to be the Force. Whatever small connection you had, it was protecting you. There was no other explanation for it. When he had devolved you into experiencing nothing but suffering and agony, you had heard his laboured breath crackling through the voice enhancer in his helmet. He was using so much effort to ply the information from your mind, but he had failed. 

This was not his ensured victory, this would not be his arrogant ease at work. You had a chance to win. It might not be enough, over time he could break down whatever barriers the Force had in place in your mind. But until that time, you wouldn't give in, you wouldn't grant him anything. You wouldn't betray the Resistance, countless lives would be lost if you did. 

You manage to fall asleep with some restored strength, but the nightmares that follow desicrate the hope that grew before. 

Gerian screams, falls, screams, falls. Her body falls limp. She is screaming out in agony. Her body falls limp. You tear through her mind, with ease, with purpose. The pain is useful, the pain has value. 

Arms latch onto you and their contact wakes you as they lift your body, knees dragging along the floor. This is real, you're not dreaming anymore. There's a clarity to your vision which doesn't exist in your dreams. 

Stormtroopers have pulled you from your cell, from your sleep. Dread seeps in your veins, nerves spiralling in your stomach. Are they going to execute you now? Did Ren actually manage to take what he wanted? No. . .they wouldn't have bothered to feed you, treat your wounds. But it doesn't relieve the sense of dread, in fact it gets worse. 

This isn't over.

They are taking you to Kylo Ren, aren't they? Your suspicions are confirmed when you're pulled into the interrogation room. He stands by the side of the apparatus, close to where your head would soon be. You want to fight back but they've already seated you on the interrogation chair, the mechanisms clamp the restraints down, and the two stormtroopers silently exit. 

You stare ahead, not even bothering to pretend you aren't scared. He knows, he can feel it already. 

Kylo Ren stands beside you without making a noise. Your chest heaves as you try to blank your mind of any useful thoughts. You recall eating the protein mush from before and let the memory repeat over and over.

A hand hovers in front of your eyes before his fingers run themselves over the bridge your nose and down to your lips. His movements get slower and softer, the material of the gloves caressing against your mouth. One finger pulls your lower lip down, and then he repeats the action with two fingers. Gradually, he works the fingers inside of your mouth and slips them in between your teeth. You're unable to respond, you can only feel the sensation of his two fingers rubbing along your tongue. The motion is rhymic, sensual.

He reaches further inside your mouth until he almost reaches the back of it, nearly hitting your gag reflex. A third finger slides into your mouth and he moves back and forth, never going fast. You feel so vulnerable, every part of you is on edge but it's not an uncomfortable sensation. You recognise that you're feeling submissive. 

The fear is there but it's different. His domination has been so gradual, so subtle that you only recognise it now, with three fingers deep inside your mouth. Drool is spilling past your lips now and he pulls his fingers out slowly, letting them collect the saliva before running two of them over your chin and down your neck. 

You look at him, searching for an expression you'll never see, before you stare ahead again. You're almost dizzy.

The hand on your neck begins to trace along your throat. Up and down, up and round, the motions are deliberate and slow, you shudder at how sensitive your skin has become. He uses his whole hand now as he rubs against you, sliding up and down. The hand slowly works its way around your neck until he has a firm grip on it. Ren tightens the hand on your neck with gradual intensity, his thumb and fingers pressing against either side.

Pressure starts to build against your temples, and it spreads across your cheeks and the rest of your face. He relaxes his grip for a few moments before tightening again, this time it's harder to breathe. The pressure is worse on your face and it almost feels like pins and needles. His grip loosens again, giving you ample time to catch your breathe and then he resumes constricting your throat. 

He repeats this over and over, his grip getting tighter each time. You think you're going to pass out, he's been holding on for too long. But before this occurs, he lets go completely and you manage to take in oxygen. The hand moves onto your forehead and you feel him probing your mind. The pain is slow to materialise, as if it's confused about its objective. Memories flicker by, thoughts are methodically torn through. It's not as bad as it was before, when he held two hands either side of your head. This was almost managable in comparison. 

Almost, but it wasn't.

When he stops, you're not too far gone to notice him silently leave the room. The stormtroopers come in to release you from the apparatus before shackling your wrists together and returning you to the cell. The same healing droid checks over your wounds, redressing your thigh wound. A tray of food and a cup of water are placed next to you. After eating, they take you to the bathroom facility. 

On the way back, you take more notice of your surroundings now that you're more coherent. You settle down on the platform and close your eyes, haunted by the feeling of Ren's fingers in your mouth.


	4. Shadow

Six trays of mush, two visits from the medical droid, no visits to the interrogation room. 

Three days must have passed, or at least whatever the First Order considered to be days. You slept constantly out of necessity, and you could feel your body recover, some mirage of strength gradually returning. 

You tried not to think about when your next session with Kylo Ren might be, but it was a constant fear hanging over you, it became a shadow. Every time the cell door slid upwards, you tensed with anxiety, wondering whether the stormtroopers would take you back to him. The worry seeped into your subconsciousness, and he was present in every dream, waiting for you. His fingers would return to your mouth, again and again, rubbing back and forth along your tongue.

He'd move his hand to your neck, and he'd caress the delicate skin of your throat, tracing with rhythmic gentleness. His grip would tighten until you couldn't breathe anymore and you'd wake up choking, gasping for air. 

Then the next time you dreamed, his fingers would slip past your lips and you felt relief. There was a deep sort of pleasure to it, an undeniable gratification. You didn't know if it was because as soon as his fingers left your mouth, he would choke you again, and you'd wake in terror, shaking, still feeling his hand around your neck.

You sought to distract yourself from the nightmares, and mapping out the First Order ship became a priority. With each visit to the bathroom facility, you began to gradually memorise the way there. It was a difficult task considering the monotony of the corridors, they all seemed to mimic each other in their bleakness. Each time you saw something familiar, it became a small victory. But then the stormtroopers returned you to the cell, and the hopelessness returned. 

You knew you were on a Resurgent-class Star Destroyer. Intelligence had estimated that the starship would maintain a crew of at least seventy thousand officers and enlisted personnel, alongwith an entire legion of stormtroopers, eight thousand of them. It made escape seem utterly impossible, but it didn't stop you from your small victories. 

As time passed, you had became aware of how the ship was kept a few degrees below uncomfortable. You lay curled as best you could on the platform, tied arms held against you, trying to preserve your body heat. Retracing the journey to the bathroom facility kept your mind busy for a while, but your thoughts began to slow and you drifted off to sleep. 

Hands are pulling you off the platform, waking you up, and immediately you assume it's Ren. Your limbs seize up, too shocked to fight back. But you realise it's the stormtroopers, and they simply drag you out of the cell, efficient and precise as ever, knees dragging along the floor. You soon realise they are not taking you to the bathroom facility, the corridors are different, a left turn was taken instead of a right. 

The fear inhibits you, taking control of your limbs, your body does not want to return to that room, it can't, you won't survive. You elbow one of the stormtroopers, striking the plate armour of their thigh. The motion isn't enough to hurt the them, but taking them by surprise is enough to loosen their grip of your arm. You bring your good leg up off the floor and use your foot to push off your body weight from the ground as you throw yourself against the other stormtrooper. 

You manage to break free from the one you took by surprise. The movements are performed without thought, they are merely a reflex, an echo from months of training. You twist your body away from the stormtrooper's grip and go for their blaster, putting weight on both legs now. Pain shoots through your thigh but it's easily ignored through the surge of adrenaline and fear. You move around the front of the stormtrooper, their blaster is nearly in your possession, their body is almost a shield between you and the other guard. You kick out both your legs, knocking the stormtrooper on top of you as you fall to the floor with them. 

The blaster is now yours and you fire at the other guard, the shot impacting their shoulder. They crumble to the ground without returning fire and you awkwardly hold the blaster underneath the stormtrooper's helmet, muzzle pressing against them, your tied wrists making the position uncomfortable.

Their weight is heavy against you, but before you can slid out from underneath them, multiple sets of footsteps are coming towards you at speed. A formation of eight stormtroopers quickly close rank around you, weapons raised, ordering you to lower the blaster. You press your weapon harder against the stormtroopers neck, finger poised on the trigger. They tell you to lower your weapon again and again, but you're holding more than a weapon, you're holding freewill in your hands. Days of imprisonment, and this moment is yours, undefiled by pain or control. 

They won't exchange anything for the hostage, they will let the stormtrooper die, there was no negotiation with the enemy, no negotiation with rebel scum. You're about the pull the trigger but you're unable to, your finger is frozen in its place. You try to move another finger to the trigger but all your fingers are stuck, so are your arms and your legs, your whole body-

"Subdue the prisoner." The familiar voice comes from further down the corridor, heavy footsteps follow. Ren has incapacitated you. You desperately try to move but your body is unresponsive, it answers only to him now. Terror is the only thing you can feel. The stormtrooper is pulled off you, the blaster is ripped from your grasp. One of them prods you with a taser and your body contracts helplessly. You feel the weight of Ren's control dissolve as they tase you again for good measure. It's difficult to see for a few moments, your eyes only making out a shadow of black hovering above you before figures of white reach down to you.

You're pulled along the floor, legs sliding against it, your muscles feel so stiff that they start to ache profusely. The stormtroopers handle you more brutally than usual, four of them come into the interrogation room to ensure you're properly secured to the apparatus. 

This time around, Kylo Ren doesn't wait, before the stormtroopers leave, his hand latches onto your thigh, fingers pressing against your bandages. The pain is sharp and precise, unlike the ache of your muscles, unlike the waves of pain he would unleash onto your mind. He rips the bandages off your thigh and presses his gloved fingers into the wound. You grunt in anguish, somehow keeping yourself from crying out. 

Ren leans toward you, and hovers inches from you, making the pain he inflicts more intimate, more personal. The pain turns white hot when his fingers dig into your flesh relentlessly, squeezing hard enough that you feel blood seeping from it. You're unable to keep quiet. 

"You thought you succeeded," he comments casually over the noise you make, his other hand reaching towards your head. You try to thrash away from him, but he responds by incapacitating you, then gently places his gloved hand on your forehead. He immediately relinquishes the control of your body, and yet he doesn't at all. The paralysis has dissipated, but you're strapped onto the apparatus, unable to move. One hand is already causing you pain, his other would soon.

The hand on your thigh then loosens, and his thumb begins to caress your temple, rubbing circles into your skin. The soft touch is disorientating, comforting, disconcerting. 

You're lost to it. 

His brings up his other hand and three fingers slip deep into your mouth. The pleasure from your dreams ripples through you, your cheeks and ears burn with shame. There's wetness on the gloves, a metallic taste to his fingers that he didn't have before. It's your blood. 

Ren pulls them out of your mouth and then slowly wipes the hand across your face, marking your skin with predatorial care. 

It's not enough to make you bleed, not enough to see him reopening the wound. You have to taste it on your tongue and the back of your throat, you have to feel the blood over your face, you have to know that your pain is in his control. 

It is an act of ownership.

"You should have aimed better," he half-whispers, the anger in his quiet voice is worse than a shout. It cripples you, it terrifies you. The fear isn't intense like panic, but it's gradual, it permeates into every cell of your body. You can only truly register the horror for a fleeting moment before the pain comes.

He crashes past your thoughts without care or precision, it doesn't even seem like he is looking for information, only that he wants to make you suffer. As he searches your mind, it feels like he's cutting through flesh with a blunt instrument. 

Agony follows him like a shadow. There is no light without darkness, there is no Kylo Ren without pain. 

You suffocate under the waves of his assault, wave after wave, memory after memory he wields, twisting them, shattering through past images, turning former dreams to debilitating nightmares. 

"Tell me the location of the Resistance base," he orders, the anger has grown from before. He scours through memories of your training, through missions and operations, but the memories give nothing valuable, they are clipped at specific moments, edited with a sophistication only the Force is capable of. 

Its barriers hold. The Resistance will not be intimidated. 

Ren punishes that thought as he always does, and you are only conscious of the pain. The ocean surrounds you, it inhibits everything, it begins to feel like it's all you've ever known. But the waves begin to blur after an unknown time, the pain starts to fade away. White hot pain then shoots through you, his hand is squeezing your thigh again, your eyes register that he's inches from your face. 

He brings you back. Kylo Ren's assault is as acute and coherent as it was when he began. 

"Tell me." 

You repeat the mantra in your mind. 

Ren now uses the sharper, physical pain to keep you awake, to make sure you feel every motion of his search for what he needs. The pain is useful, the pain has value, and it feels like it will never end. 

Wave after wave. Memory after memory. 

The white hot pain that once was, has dulled to a cool simmer, it fades enough that the waves begin to blur again. Before he was tearing through your thoughts relentlessly, now he glides through them with ease. He slips through an old memory, a useless memory, of watching a storm through a window. You revel in it, picturing the sky with clarity as flashes of lightning crack through the clouds, the booming thunder following a moment later.

He sees it too, he feels the fondness of the memory, the comfort it brings you. You imagine him by the window standing next to you, and you take his hand, anchoring him to it. 

The waves are gone now. The memory is land devoid of ocean, devoid of pain. He's hurt you so much that you can't feel it anymore. You're numb, incapable of feeling anything aside from gripping his hand. You won't let him slip away into another memory. Another lightning strike rips across the sky, and it splits in two as the bolts reach for the ground, racing against each other with a speed that's hard to register. But you manage to notice one of them reach out further than the other, and a moment later the sky is dark again. The rhythmic patting of raindrops is interrupted a few seconds later by the deafening thunder that reverberates deep in your chest.

It's oddly peaceful. The storm is so violent and wild, lightning getting closer and closer, rain so heavy it might tear through the ceiling, thunder so loud its almost trying to ravage you down to the bone. And yet, the serenity of it is undeniable. Observing it is peaceful, beyond satisfying. 

After all the agony, all the suffocating waves, this is blissful. You want to be in this moment forever, but you can't.

You feel the memory begin to darken at the edges of your vision, but it's more than an absence of light. It's like a void is gradually encompassing your sight, a true blackness that consumes everything. Inch by inch it swarms across your eyes, the storm clouds have grown small as the void beckons, and you feel an odd sort of relief. 

There's a finality to the feeling. The darkness will take you with it, and it will all be over. You accomplished your mission, Kylo Ren knows nothing of value, the Resistance will not be hindered by your betrayal. 

Is this how you're going to die? 

The question settles for a while, and there's no discomfort with it. You had thought before that you would be willing to die for the Resistance, and this is merely a confirmation. The Force had aided you when you needed it most, and you are beyond grateful. 

The void is near completion, the storm clouds are all nearly gone when Ren tries to pull his hand away from you. But your grip transcends his power, he can not pull away, he can not escape your control. 

He is yours. 

Kylo Ren moves in front of the window now, blocking your view of the remaining storm clouds. You can't see much of him, but you notice his other hand coming towards you. There's something in his grasp, it shines and flickers in a light that doesn't exist. 

You gasp desperately for air, your heart is pounding, light sparks across your vision, panic courses through you. You're alert and conscious, strapped to the apparatus, the memory of the storm has gone. Kylo Ren is not as close to you as before, and he's pulling something out of your arm. It makes the panic even worse. Somehow your breathing gets heavier, your heart starts to have palpitations, and you register how your whole body is shaking against the apparatus. 

What did he inject you with? What the fuck has he done to you? 

Your senses are overcompensating, high pitched noises scratch at your ear, your tongue is burning with the coppery taste of your blood, you can feel every inch of your heart as it beats relentlessly, trying to rip itself out of your chest. 

"Tell me what I need to know, and you will not suffer anymore," he spits out the words, leaning close to you now. The panic is worse than it's ever been before and you almost want to think about the information he needs. But you can't, you can't ever do that. 

"TELL ME!" He shouts with uncontrollable anger, you flinch away from him, the shaking of your body only getting worse. You can't say, you can't ever say.

The Resistance will not-

Ren pulls out something from his belt and bright red light sparks out from it. He lets out a roar of inhumane rage before he thrusts the lightsaber into your torso. 

You shudder, expecting pain to explode through you, but it doesn't come. The lightsaber has burnt through everything, there's nothing left to feel it. Your eyes flick up at him and-


	5. White

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry there's been such a long delay with this chapter. I had written most of this chapter ages back, so I finished it off recently and thought I'd post it on here. Please enjoy :)

The first thing you notice is the smell. Ammonia and sanitiser. It fills your lungs with every breath, but. . .something's not quite right. The sensation is abnormal, unbalanced, one side isn't expanding like the other. It doesn't hurt so you disregard it, and you try to open your eyes.

It's difficult, so difficult in fact that you wonder if you've gone blind. When harsh beams of light flood your vision, you're relieved. You're not sure how long it takes for your eyes to adjust to the light, but it feels like minutes rather than the seconds it should have been. The ceiling is sheer white, and it's odd, you'd become so used to the dark furnishings of the First Order ship-

Kylo Ren.

The name burns in your mind and suddenly everything begins to hurt again. Agony writhes through you like he's taking you again. His lightsaber. . .he. . .

You picture it violently spark to life before he cuts seamlessly through your body and you try to scream at the horror of it all. But there's something in your throat, you can't breathe, you can't fucking breathe. Is he choking you? Suffocating you again? Please, please stop, you beg, hoping he would hear the thought. But there's so much noise, something is beeping and it's getting louder and louder, is it a warning? What the fuck is-

\-   
\- -  
\- - -

The first thing you notice is the smell. Ammonia and sanitiser. It fills your lungs with every breath and it tingles as it passes down your throat. There's something not quite right. . .as you breath in the air, somehow it feels unbalanced, the sensation is abnormal. One side of your chest contracts more than the other. It's uncomfortable, but breathing is easy so you disregard the thought and try to open your eyes.

Opening your eyes takes longer than expected, but you manage to make out a white ceiling, there are three sun-mimicking lights positioned directly above you. Those lights were high-tech, too expensive for the Resistance to afford on a large scale, but you knew of a couple in the high-priority ward back at the base. They were designed to accelerate recovery, maximum efficiency, odd they would use it on a Resistance fighter-

Dread fills your guts, you are still a prisoner of the First Order, you're only here because Ren. . .

You look down at your body, and see yourself laying on a medical bed, body covered by a soft bed sheet, arms laying on top of it. There are IV's attached to both arms, and whatever they're giving you, it's really good shit. You don't feel any pain, the dread somehow starts to slip away. Was the IV reacting to your brain activity? An anxious thought would be drowned out with medically-induced euphoria? 

You recall Ren taking out his lightsaber and fear shadows the memory. A few moments later, the pain dissipates and happiness floods your mind. You sink deeper into the pillow underneath your head, and you almost want to smile. 

It feels good, so fucking good, bliss envelopes your entire body, a shroud of pleasure, like a perpetual orgasm. What if Ren used his hands for pleasure instead of pain? His fingers in your mouth, that wasn't meant to be either was it? Just a method of domination. . .yet somehow it became pleasure. Somehow it was-

\-   
\- -  
\- - - 

Ammonia, sanitiser, and. . .hunger. Crippling hunger in fact. Whatever they were feeding you with was enough to keep you alive, not to satisfy your appetite. It was easier to open your eyes this time, and you became aware of your surroundings. The room is larger you imagined, and you aren't its only occupant. There are beds adjacent to you and another row of beds opposite you. A surgical droid rolls slowly in between the rows, it looked like a much newer model of one of the droids that you'd looked at on Oresia. 

Oresia. How many days had it been now? You'd definitely missed your rendezvous date with the Resistance outpost a system over. They knew you were gone, but what could they do? General Leia had managed to scrounge together enough pilots and ships to form some sort of aerial defence, but even the entirety of the Resistance fleet couldn't take on a single Resurgent-class Star Destroyer. The First Order had all the resources and capital they needed and yet the Republic didn't even see them as a threat. 

The Resistance wouldn't come to save you. 

But you'd known that since the beginning. You'd been informed about the risks and dangers of becoming a Resistance fighter. The mission to Oresia was supposed to be routine, nothing but a supply run. There had always been the romantic notion in your mind that you would encounter the enemy in the midst of battle, with your fellow soldiers beside you, not while you were trying to haggle down the price of a third-rate surgical droid with protocol malfunctions. 

None of that matters now, you have to think of the present. You look over to the bed to your left and you notice someone's lying on it, a woman younger than you, presumably some unmasked stormtrooper. It takes you several moments to register that both of her legs are missing. You wonder whether an explosion caused the damage. Loosing that much flesh would take over a month to heal, regrowing the bone would be the hardest part. 

The thought circles for several moments and you begin to wonder why the woman's legs have simply been bandaged, were they not going to regrow the limbs? The First Order certainly have the resources for it. . .

She isn't a stormtrooper. The jacket is supposed to look civilian, but its material is polycarbonate fibre, real expensive, lightweight, ballistic-resistant. . .it's what Spec Ops wear. Dread fills you, and you frantically look around the room, spotting more Resistance fighters, all of them incapacitated. There's another to your right, his mid-section is bandaged and he wears no jacket but you recognise the boots. Resistance. 

What's that noise? It's an incessant beeping, and it gets louder and-

\-   
\- -  
\- - -

You wake up to some sort of commotion, there are loud voices and sounds of clattering and something falling to the floor. You open your eyes and you make out a surgical droid that's been toppled over, it lays next to your bed, scrambling to correct itself. 

"Sedative! I ordered a sedative!" A man shouts, and you hear the clambering of footsteps coming closer. The woman to your left is sitting up and she's holding something to her neck. 

"The Resistance will not be intimidated," she mutters calmly, before slitting her throat, blood gushing out heavily from the wound. You stare in shock, feeling wetness on your cheeks. She slumps almost silently back onto the bed. 

Two stormtroopers run up to her and wrestle away whatever she's used to cut herself with, pinning both of her arms to the pillow. A man in white, a nurse of some kind, tries to stop to the bleeding. The droid, who's now standing, assists the nurse and begins an immediate blood transfusion. 

You can feel yourself shaking and your eyes watering as you stare at them both as they try to resuscitate her limp body. Turning your head, you can see all the blood spatters on your sheets and on your arms. It's everywhere. You look to the next bed over, to the man with the bandaged torso. Two stormtroopers are stationed at the end of his bed, weapons raised and aiming at him. He is awake, sitting up and staring at the scene like you were before, but there is something unfazed in his expression, as if he'd seen it before. 

His eyes meet yours for a brief moment before he looks down on your sheets, inspecting the blood stains. There's a slight softening in his face that you register as pity. How much had he seen? How much death had he encountered before that he could be so unmoved? How many fellow soldiers and friends had he lost? 

"Sedate those prisoners at once!" The nurse calls out angrily. You watch the Resistance fighter next to you quickly reach for the IV in his arm, but before he manages to pull it out, his body goes limp and he slumps further into the bed. You feel a wave of tiredness hit you, and your eyes close in response. 

You force them open with all the energy you have left to look at him. He's staring into your eyes, resisting the sedative the same as you. It's what you are, what you both are, fighting a war almost impossible to win, fighting with everything you had until the very end, even when you lose fellow soldiers, even when they die beside you, even when hope is fleeting and the odds are stacked against you, you will both resist. 

And you will resist together.


End file.
